


A Single Grain of Rice

by Orlissa



Category: Vampire Academy Series - Richelle Mead
Genre: AU, F/M, First Meeting, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13288425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orlissa/pseuds/Orlissa
Summary: "A single grain of rice can tip the scale."What if, what if, what if... What if Ivan Zeklos didn't die? A small glace at how the story would have went then.Originally post on FF.net in 2014. Slightly edited and updated.





	A Single Grain of Rice

Dimitri had a very bad feeling about this. He had even voiced his concerns, but, for not the first in the last couple of months, his words had found deaf ears. His charge—his _friend_ —had always listened to him in the past, had always sought his counsel when in trouble, but now he had reached a new low, and it made him desperate.

Ivan was in debt—deep in debt, and he needed to solve this situation quickly and quietly. No asking from relatives. No taking out a loan. No selling old family heirlooms. Which left him with only one option: striking a deal with Zmey.

Dimitri did his best to talk him out of it—he’d heard enough about Ibrahim Mazur to know that it was a bad idea to get involved with him. There were rumors… And then there were facts. Even a fraction of them was enough to discourage any sensible man from dealing with Abe Mazur.

But Ivan was way past being sensible.

And that’s how they ended up here, into this airy hall with its hardwood floors and oak paneling, waiting for the word that Zmey was ready to see them.

The house, no matter how welcoming it seemed, made Dimitri’s skin crawl. He could feel eyes on him, although there was nobody in sight. _Cameras_. They were being watched, and it made every single muscle in his body tense, ready to jump and fight in a moment’s notice.

His hand never went far from the pistol on his side.

A door opened in the distance, immediately followed by the click-clicks of heels on the floor, coming towards them. A Moroi woman, whom Dimitri assumed to be Mazur’s secretary, rounded the corner and turned towards them.

“Mr. Mazur is ready for you,” she said in an almost emotionless tone, her nose held up haughtily. Ivan nodded in thanks, then started walking towards from where the woman had come from, but as Dimitri tried to follow him the woman stopped him with a simple wave of her hand. “Mr. Mazur would only like to talk to Lord Zeklos. Alone.” A tiny, artificial smile appeared on her face. “While they discuss the matter at hand please feel free to look around the house. Mr. Mazur has an extensive painting collection on the first floor that might be to your interest.” And with that she turned around and led Ivan to Zmey’s office, leaving Dimitri alone in the hallway.

He cursed under his breath.

This was not good. Dimitri’s instincts were screaming—never leave your charge alone, especially not in a possibly hostile environment. Anything could go on—could go _wrong—_ in that office, and yet he was here, outside, sitting duck, unable to help Ivan if something was to happen—

A faint noise coming from above and behind him made him jump. Hand flying to his hip, he turned around, gaze shooting upwards.

“Hey, hotshot, no threat here,” said the source of the noise, a girl standing on the top of the stairs, her hands held up in front of her, more like in a mocking fashion than in surrender. “Just on my way to the kitchen.”

Dimitri relaxed slightly, his hand falling back down next to his side. The newcomer was young, maybe around twenty, quite easy on the eyes with her tanned skin and long, silky hair. And, just like him, she was a dhampir. But she couldn’t have been a Guardian, no, at least not one on duty—her jeans and T-shirt was too causal for that, she was not armed, not to mention the way she moved around: with a kind of confidence, and maybe borderline arrogance, that told him that she felt completely at ease. But the skin of her neck was spotless, devoid of any scars and her eyes were clear. So she wasn’t a bloodwhore, either.

“Hotshot?” he heard himself saying just as the girl reached the bottom of the stairs. She merely shrugged.

“You haven’t offered me any alternative,” she said brazenly. The way she spoke—her whole being—should have irritated him, and it did, to some level, but at the same time… He couldn’t exactly put it into words. She made him uncomfortable—but it could have been simply the place itself—and yet… “So, anyway… Wanna join me?”

“What?”

The corners of her mouth twitched.

“I’m going to the kitchen. Do you want anything to drink?” She dragged her gaze along his body, from his feet to his face. He could see the appreciation in her eyes. “You look like you could use one. And knowing the old man, you are in for some waiting, anyway. Come on!” She waved at him encouragingly, then started walking towards the door opposite to where Ivan had gone.

After a moment of hesitation, Dimitri followed her.

“Name’s Belikov, by the way,” he said, once he caught up to her.

The girl didn’t even stop for a moment; she only turned her head backwards to look at him. “Belikov, huh?” she tried to sound uncaring, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her. “Hathaway,” she offered, then turned back, her steps never slowing. As her head moved, her ponytail swung sideways, revealing her bare neck.

She had two molnijas. But no promise mark.

Odd.

About twenty steps down the corridor she abruptly turned to the right and opened a door, leading him to the kitchen. Judging by its size, it was meant to accommodate several members of household help, not a single housewife.

“So, what can I get you?” she asked, opening the fridge, while Dimitri, feeling almost bold, took seat at the counter.

“Just some soda, thank you.”

Hathaway, one hand still on the fridge door, turned to look at him, a smirk playing on her lips.

“You sure? You look like you could use something stronger. You do seem kinda tense.”

“I’m sure—on duty.”

She merely shrugged.

“As you wish. If you want to be a party pooper.” With that she pulled a can of cola from the fridge for him and a bottle of beer for herself. She walked to the counter, sat down opposite of him and, with surprising grace and gentleness, placed the can in front of him. He picked it up and opened it, the soda letting out a low, hissing sound. He took a sip.

“So… you work here? For Mazur?”

She opened her beer on the edge of the counter and flipped her ponytail behind her shoulder.

“Sorta. Temporarily.”

“How temporarily?”

She didn’t answer right away, but just watched him, as if she was trying to decide whether to trust him or not.

“Just until the big names up high decide that my friend Lissa is grown up enough to make her own decisions and she can officially hire me.”

Lissa… The name tickled some distant memory in his mind. Lissa… And Hathaway.

“You mean the Dragomir princess.” It was more of a statement than a question, but she still nodded, taking a sip from her beer.

“I was supposed to be her Guardian from the beginning,” she elaborated. “But then… stuff happened.” Yeah, it could be put that way. Now Dimitri remembered the rumors he had heard a couple of years back—the reports of two fifteen year old girls, the last living Dragomir and her dhampir friend, running away from the Montana facility, and succeeding in hiding from authorities for nearly three years. There were also other… rumors, going on about how the Princess was mentally unstable, requiring constant monitoring. But this news came from far and through not exactly reliably channels, so he didn’t know how much of it he should take as truth. “They welcomed her back with open arms, being so precious royalty and all, while they kicked me to the curb.” She played nonchalant, like it meant nothing, like she was over it, but her body language, the way she avoided looking into his eyes, told a different story.

“And yet—you are here,” he said, somehow finding himself wanting to comfort her. “I’m sure it takes some skill to be hired by Abe Mazur. He’s not a guy to surround himself with amateurs.” His hand twitched, wanting to hold hers, but he held himself back.

Something he said made her chuckle.

“Yeah, it was my skills that got me hired,” she said, toying with her bottle. “I mean… I am not bad. I had always been amongst the best, but… it was a long time ago.” She took another sip, flipping her hair once again. “Let’s just say I am not that… polished as I should and could, be.” Somehow, during their conversation, she had lost her confidence, her brazenness. She looked more vulnerable, and maybe even shy, by every moment that ticked by. “I mean, I try to get better. I pick up things from where I can—from the guardians working here, from Youtube videos,” she smiled at him from under her lashes, “but there’s still some ground to cover. A lot of ground, to be honest.”

He took a long gulp from his soda, almost emptying the can, and then said something that surprised even him.

“You know what? Maybe I could teach you.” The hopeful little glance she gave him made him go on. “I am not bad myself.” First of his class, nine kills so far, spotless record, but he didn’t want to go into details. “First of all, of course, we’d have to see what you know. And then…”

“And then…” she echoed.

“And then—and then we’ll see.” He raised his can a little. “I have a feeling that it’s not my last visit here, anyways.”

She mirrored him, leaning closer, and clicked her bottle against his soda.

“Then the next time you come… I’ll be waiting for you,” she said, her voice suddenly low, seductive. Not that he minded it. Actually, it made his heart race, something he hadn’t felt in a while.

“You better be.”

“It’s a date,” she breathed, then finished her beer, her gaze never moving from his eyes.

* * *

Their drinks gone, they ventured back to the hall a few minutes later, both a little more open, both breaching the other’s personal space a little. Walking a little closer than normal, their hands almost touching.

Ivan and Zmey just rounded the corner—still talking and shaking hands—as they arrived back to the hall. Things went quickly from then—Ivan said his goodbyes to their host, then turned to Dimitri, telling him that it was time for them to go. Dimitri snapped back to Guardian mode in a blink of an eye, focused on his charge and their surroundings, although suddenly he found it difficult to see the house as he had only an hour ago—as a possibly hostile environment.

They were already at the door, just about to step out of the building, when he heard Hathaway call after him. He stopped and turned to her—she was leaning casually against the wall, a confident smile pulling at her lips. And although he couldn’t see Mazur, he was sure the older man was still within earshot.

“Just for future reference—Rose. My name is Rose,” she said.

Dimitri didn’t even try to stop the small smile from appearing on his face.

“Dimitri.”

“Well… then until the next time, Dimitri,” she nodded at him, her body language telling him that she really was looking forward to it.

All the while, Ivan didn’t say a word. Not when the door closed behind them. Not when they walked down the driveway. But when they got into the car and Dimitri was just about to start the engine, all bets were off—and Ivan started laughing like a madman.

“What?” Dimitri asked, baffled, his hand stilling above the ignition.

“Dimitri Belikov, you hypocrite bastard!” Ivan said, still a little breathless, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“What?” Dimitri echoed his earlier question, his voice laced with confusion.

“You go on and on about how I shouldn’t deal with Mazur, how dangerous he is, how I am playing with fire… And then here you are, shamelessly flirting with his daughter!”

**Author's Note:**

> If Ivan didn’t die, Dimitri wouldn’t have gone to St. Vlad’s, so when Rose and Lissa were actually caught, there wouldn’t have been anybody to fight for Rose and she would have been expelled. With nowhere else to go—Abe would have never let her live with bloodwhores and become one of them—, her father would have taken her in. But, sooner or later, she and Dimitri would have met anyways.


End file.
